


Strings

by withoutaplease



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Oral Sex, Smut, Unprotected Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:48:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22930495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withoutaplease/pseuds/withoutaplease
Summary: Prompt: what if billy was having a no strings attached thing with this girl and in the middle of the deed accidentally slips up an “i love you”
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Reader, Billy Hargrove/You
Comments: 1
Kudos: 119





	Strings

You picked up the little alarm clock that sat next to the narrow camp bed, half-buried amongst your small collection of well-thumbed magazines and paperbacks, and squinted at it. By the light of the tiny strip of moonbeam streaming in between the curtains, it looked like the time was twelve-forty-something - any minute now. You set the clock back down, and laid back onto your pillow, listening to the night through the window. Wind rustled through trees, water lapped up against the dock, crickets chirped. Then you heard what you were waiting for, the faint turn-and-click of your cabin door carefully opening. Your heartbeat picked up, and you hopped out of bed, grinning. 

Billy stepped inside the tiny cabin in a rush of breezy air, bearing the fresh scent of the woods and his own mix of campfire and cologne. Goosebumps tingled up across your skin, making you shiver, from chill and anticipation both. After a suitably appreciative once-over, he closed the door silently behind him, and slipped his sneakers off. “You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he half-whispered, covering the space between you in one long stride and grabbing you by the waist.

“You saw me like two hours ago,” you replied, smiling up at him, waiting to be kissed.

“Doesn’t count if I can’t do this,” he said, and indulged you. Warm, soft lips met yours, and teased them apart with a tongue that tasted of cigarette smoke over toothpaste. He slipped his hands around from your waist to your ass and squeezed, grinning a little against your lips as you squeaked into his mouth.

“Rough day?” you asked when he broke away for air.

“When isn’t it?” he grumbled, hands roaming freely now, first skimming up your back, then down over your chest, pausing to brush thumbs across stiff nipples over the worn softness of your old cotton t-shirt. 

“It’s not so bad,” you said, with a small gasp. “There are perks.”

He slipped his fingertips up under your top, their heat a shock against your own cool skin, and a fresh shiver ran through you. “I’m feeling perkier already,” he said, cupping your breasts. 

“Worst pun ever - unnf,” you moaned, as he rolled your nipples between thumbs and fingers.

“Shhh,” he admonished, and covered your mouth with his lips again, only breaking off to lift your shirt up over your head. He held the fabric wadded up in one fist, keeping your wrists up over your head, while the other hand groped and fondled. "Been waiting for this all day,“ he rasped hungrily against the shell of your ear, and your goosebumps got goosebumps. "Parading around in that little swimsuit of yours …”

You giggled softly. “You see it every day.”

“And every day it drives me crazy." He slid his free hand down past the band of your panties, and dragged his fingers between wet lips. It was more than a shiver you felt at that, and he smothered your moan with kisses again. He swirled slow circles around your clit, and you arched against him, looking for more.

"You gonna let go?” you asked, tugging at your wrists.

“Not if I can help it,” he replied, and backed you onto the bed. He did let go then, but only to slip your panties off. "Mmm,“ he hummed appreciatively, pausing to loom you over, naked and trembling in anticipation. Then he undressed himself, unhurriedly, and you watched with matching appreciation.

"Mmm,” you agreed, feasting your eyes on the bronze of his skin, and the curves of his muscles, and the stiff, vital stand of his cock, all hazy handsome in the thin stream of moonlight. He climbed up over you and gathered you in his arms, the impossible heat of him chasing the chill from your skin, and slid himself home with a satisfied grunt. 

“So fucking hot,” he whispered, and you bucked your hips up in response. You fell easily, automatically, into rhythm together, limbs twining, breath mingling, fingers twisting into handfuls of hair. With every thrust and grind and gasp the tension built, and when it snapped, you moaned your pleasure without a thought to noise or secrecy or anything at all except for Billy, here and now.

His moan echoed yours, deep and hoarse and no quieter. He followed it with murmured words, strained but distinct: “Fuck, I love you." 

You froze, stunned, sure you couldn’t have heard him right, and just as sure that you did.

That wasn’t part of the deal.

Four weeks back, when you first met him, you thought perhaps love was on the table. Maybe not the lifelong-soulmate kind of love, fine, but when he screeched into the sleepaway camp parking lot in a cloud of exhaust and distorted stereo blasting, he brought to mind dreams of Sandy Olsson and Danny Zuko. Camp counselling suddenly became a much more interesting proposition. It only took a few evenings of making eyes over the campfire before he showed up at your cabin door, same as he had for most nights since, and if you’d been disappointed by his insistence on a no-strings arrangement, he soothed the burn quickly enough. For sex that good, you could live without the romance. At least, that’s what you tried to convince yourself. And you’d succeeded. Until now.

“What did you say?” you asked cautiously.

"Huh?” he panted. “Oh, _this_. I love this.“ He gave another thrust, and you still didn’t move. "What’s the matter?” he said impatiently. “Why are you stopping?”

“What you said …” 

He huffed. “I don’t know _what_ I was saying. None of my blood’s in my brain right now.“

"Billy.” You shifted beneath him, and he hissed through his teeth. “We should talk about this.”

“Right this minute?” he said testily, and when you didn’t respond, he rolled off you. You fumbled around for your t-shirt, and he picked up his jeans from their heap on the floor. He started dressing, not meeting your eyes, until you reached out a hand to stop him.

“Where are you going?”

“Air,” he muttered, grunting uncomfortably as he tucked his erection into his pants.

“Billy-” you repeated.

“What?” he snapped. “You wanted to stop.”

“I wanted to talk,” you said, trying to keep back the pleading note that tried to creep into your voice.

“Nothing to talk about,” he dismissed, picking up his shirt and stepping to the door.

“Are you in love with me?” you asked, as his hand touched the doorknob. He paused.

“I love fucking you,” he said, looking over his shoulder.

“That’s not what I asked.”

He turned back to the door, fingering the knob as if it was suddenly fascinating. "We said _no strings_ , right? So what difference does it make?”

You got up and went over to him, laying your hands on his shoulders. He tensed, but didn’t move away. "It makes all the difference,“ you murmured, beginning to tremble again. You gulped, and continued, "Because that’s how I feel about you.”

He didn’t move, and for long seconds, the room filled up with the sound of crickets, and your own blood pounding in your ears. Then, at last, he sighed. "Shit,“ he said, and turned to take you into his arms again. You stood that way for a while, your cheek tucked against his broad chest, his fingers gently stroking through your hair. "What do you want to do about it?” he asked, resting his chin on the top of your head.

“Does that mean _yes_?” you whispered.

“Yeah, it means yes." He let go a little and held you out at arm’s length, examining your face with the ghost of a smile upturning one corner of his mouth. "So what are we going to do?”

You beamed. “Well, for starters,” you teased, reaching to undo his fly again.

The other corner twisted to match the first. “Then what?” he asked, as you pulled the zipper.

“I don’t know,” you replied honestly, pushing his jeans down over his hips.

“We’re done in two weeks.”

“I know,” you said, dragging his pant legs down to the floor, and staying there, kneeling.

“The long distance -”

“I know,” you said, and nuzzled up against his cock, gone half-soft and rising again.

“So how-?”

“I don’t know,” you said, and took him into your mouth. He rested his hand on your hair, and exhaled contentedly.

“Me - ah - neither," he whispered, and when you glanced up at him, his eyes were squeezed shut, his lips were parted, and his teeth peeked out in a smile. You closed your eyes too, and turned your concentration to what you were doing. His watery moans as you took him apart were all the answers you needed tonight. The truth was out. Talking could wait.


End file.
